


Joy to you, King

by Liaeling



Series: Into the Ends of the World [2]
Category: Alexander (2004), Alexander Trilogy - Mary Renault, Ancient History RPF, Classical Greece and Rome History & Literature RPF, Dancing with the Lion - Jeanne Reames, Historical RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:55:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28185717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liaeling/pseuds/Liaeling
Summary: "Through the hardness of his father and the fears of his mother, Alexander had somehow learned to be kind. For that, and many other reasons, Hephaestion was sure he would walk with him through Hades and back. His love for him would make it so."
Relationships: Alexandros III of Macedon | Alexander the Great & Hephaistion of Macedon, Alexandros III of Macedon | Alexander the Great/Hephaistion of Macedon
Series: Into the Ends of the World [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2061774
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	Joy to you, King

**Author's Note:**

> Here goes the second of the series. Thought of going for chapters but then realized the stories could work separately, so... This story starts straight after the Battle of Issus (and Alexander's going after a fleeing Darius but deciding to let him go), when Darius left behind the Royal Family, his harem, and his baggage train, including the Royal Tent.
> 
> Inspiration came from this passage in Diodorus (Book 17, 37, 3-4) [Translation by Robin Waterfield]:  
>  _"Someone came to Darius' wife and mother with the news that Alexander had returned from the pursuit, and told them that he had stripped Darius' corpse of his arms and armour. At this, a great cry of anguish burst from the women, and the rest of the prisoners [...] began howling out their grief. When Alexander heard how the women were suffering, he sent Leonnatus, one of his Friends, to quieten and calm Sisygambis and her entourage - to assure them that Darius' was alive and that Alexander would treat them with all due respect. The king wanted to speak to them the following morning, Leonnatus said, and he added that his behaviour towards them would leave them in no doubt of his kindness. At this [...] the captive women acclaimed Alexander as a god, and stopped their weeping and wailing."_
> 
> Again, heads-up, these characters are closer to the 'Dancing with the Lion' versions thant to the 'Mary Renault' or 'Alexander (2004)' versions.

The noise in the Persian, now Macedonian, Royal Tent was louder than a crowded  _ agora _ before a Festival. Unlike an  _ agora _ , there were no rhetoricians or philosophers swarming about, spouting questions, answers and thoughts. Inside the tent of the winner of the battle of Issus, music, poetry and dance was the only language. Apart from drunkenness and some badly concealed wantonness in a corner.

He felt heat rising to his cheeks, head slightly lighter than the rest of his body. He looked down into his cup, slowly rocking it in a circular movement in order to stop himself from drinking it down in one gulp. “Restrain,” Aristotle had once said, “makes a man rise above himself.”

“Come, dance with us, Hephaestion!” a very tipsy Perdiccas shouted close to his ear, making him look up from the cup. The  _ komos _ , the ritualistic drunken procession, had reached his couch and the revelers were merrily stomping their feet right in front of him. 

Perdiccas had thrown himself next to him on the couch, mask forgotten to his side as he clinged to Hephaestion’s neck. He was dressed either as Hermes or a demi-god, Hephaestion couldn’t tell from the few accessories he still had on him as identifiers of his costume. He had probably lost most of them when he had shared a couch with a  _ hetaira _ earlier. 

Everyone around him was drunker than him, or appeared to be. Even Alexander’s  _ syntrophoi _ , those that grew up with him, seemed to have forgotten Aristotle’s lessons about self-control and moderation. Hephaestion let Perdiccas cling to his neck as he looked towards the central couch, where Alexander, dressed impeccably as Dionysus, was chatting with a fake-sober Cleitus. He hadn’t approached the King, yet. He felt he needed to give Alexander his time to shine and fully drink in his victory.

“Stop piiining from afaaar,” Perdiccas shouted in his ear, drawing the vowels to sound whiny. “Either join me in the  _ komos _ , or go to Alexander.”

Hephaestion snorted, patting Perdiccas in the back and pulling him away in the same gesture. That was precisely what he wanted to do. Not join the  _ komos _ , obviously.

“Thanks, Perdiccas, but I think I’ll stay here,” he shouted, matching the volume of his friend to be heard above the din of the Victory Banquet, “Why don’t you go and invite the King to join in the  _ komos _ ?” he said, snorting at the mere idea of Alexander dragging his heavy purple  _ himation _ around the tent.

Perdiccas stared at him, letting his mouth fall open. He rolled his eyes and stood up, barely managing to keep himself from falling back into the couch. 

“No, thank you. If I wanted a long lecture on the ‘virtue of sobriety’, I would simply go back to my father,” he waved his hand around, turning on his heels and looking left and right to find his place in the  _ komos _ .

“Your father’s dead,” Hephaestion whispered into his raised cup, wondering how much longer he had to stay at the Royal Banquet in honor of their victory.

Sometimes, he truly felt like an outsider in the midst of his own people.

Almost like he had shouted those words, he felt a gaze fall upon him from across the tent. He looked up and found transparent eyes burying into his own from afar. Between him and those eyes, there was a  _ komos,  _ a couch with three laughing men and some passing dancing girls dressed in wispy cream-colored  _ plepos. _

But he felt that gaze pierce him, heat crawling up his neck for more than the wine. He truly had the most intense stare in the world.

Alexander let his head fall slightly to his left, inviting him to come over with a movement. The grape vine crown around his head slid over slightly, making way for his unruly reddish hair that appeared redder than usual in the glow of the braziers around him. His white  _ chiton _ and purple  _ himation  _ made his skin look fairer, too, bringing out the freckles adorning his upper chest and neck. He knew those freckles by memory. He could trace them with closed eyes.

Hephaestion stood up, content to be invited but wanting everyone around him to leave immediately. As he made his way around the massive lavish tent, trying to keep clear of  _ komasts _ ,  _ hetairas _ and friends, he felt Alexander’s eyes on him. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one thinking about the inner chamber of the tent, where their new Royal Bed stood waiting.

He finally made it to the center couch, dodging past everything with his characteristic smoothness. He was capable of being invisible when he wanted, as much as he was capable of commanding with just one look.

The King stood up and clasped his upper arms in a tight grip. The traditional greeting between soldiers. How reserved of him in this dionysiac atmosphere while being dressed as Dionysus himself. Hephaestion smirked down at him.

Abruptly, Alexander clasped his arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug. For a moment, Hephaestion could do nothing but blush, looking around above Alexander’s reddish curls, sure someone would shout, snicker or even openly taunt him. Only after he realized no one was directly looking at them, did he manage to raise his arms and clasp his King back in a tight embrace.

“You look ravishing tonight. It’s not fair.” Alexander whispered, as close to his ear as he could get with their pronounced height difference. Before Hephaestion could respond, he broke the embrace and took a step back.

Hephaestion was at a loss for words, looking down at a blushing Alexander. He knew there wasn’t enough wine in him to raise color to his cheeks. It took him a couple of breaths, but he finally smiled down at him and nodded curtly, making sure that those closest to them heard his next words.

“ _ Joy _ to you, my King. The gods are mighty, glory is yours.” Hephaestion said, delivering each word with care, not wanting anyone to mishear him.

Alexander openly laughed, knowing entirely what Hephaestion was about. He reached his arm out and pulled Hephaestion toward him, still laughing as he sat down and gestured for him to join him.

Hephaestion sat next to his King, making sure to recline demurely in case anyone felt drunk enough to retort something publicly. Alexander made a gesture to his Page to bring more wine and food. 

As movement circled around them, Alexander leaned towards him and whispered in his ear, “I see you remembered to  _ greet _ me this time. Well done.” 

Hephaestion smirked up at Alexander’s face, stretching his neck to whisper back, “I won’t be  _ greeting _ you tomorrow morning, my King. I don’t plan on leaving tonight.”

Alexander pulled back, laughing openly as he took his cup from the newly returned Page. 

Hephaestion looked down into his cup again, smiling. Alexander’s eyes always crinkled when he laughed genuinely, something he knew through experience and hoped to continue witnessing for an indefinite time.

He wanted to lean in again and whisper sweet nothings into Alexander’s ear, but instead, he looked up and glanced around while Alexander greeted Erygius, who had just come to toast to their victory with the King. 

The  _ komos _ line had broken up, revelers slowly deserting to find their chosen women for the night. It was getting late and the men could feel it. They had fought bravely today, not even the fleeing Darius could deny that. The night was before them, designed to quench their bloodthirst through the warmth of a woman’s skin. The morning would bring a new dawn and the memory of their fallen comrades. Wounds would begin to ache, memories would begin to crystallize into their own myth. 

War was a funny business.

The musicians around them had paused as the  _ komos _ dispersed, trying to find another tune to accompany the revelry. Only a couple of flutes accompanied the dancing girls who were dancing for some Generals at the back of the tent.

And in the unexpected pause, a sound prevailed above the noise of the tent. Somewhere close at hand, there was a high-pitched wailing that pierced through air, cloth and fire and creeped into the Victory Banquet _. _

Hephaestion felt Alexander go tense next to him, chin raising as he listened attentively to the same noise everyone around them heard. Erygius had noticed it too and had fallen silent.

It was like a dry field catching fire. Everyone around them fell to silence, following on his King’s attention. The musicians stood looking around, unsure if they should play or not to hide the wailing behind a song.

Hephaestion turned to look at Alexander and saw the way his lips formed a straight line, brow slightly creased. He knew it was the Royal Family. Darius’ Royal Family. The one he had _left_ _behind_.

“Leonnatus,” burst Alexander loudly, looking to his left to the couch nearest to him. Leonnatus, one of the most tactful of the Companions, quickly sat up and stood at attention. “Go to the Royal Family’s Tent and assure them no one will harm them tonight.”

Leonnatus swiftly got up and nodded towards the King, starting to head towards the tent’s exit. Alexander stuck his arm out. “Wait,” he said curtly, lips still in a thin line. The King stood up, making everyone around him unconsciously lounge less comfortably, standing at attention. Alexander briskly unwrapped his purple _himation,_ the one his own mother had sent from Macedonia for State Banquets, and pushed it towards Leonnatus. “Give this to the Queen Mother. Also, tell her…” he paused, visibly choosing his words carefully. “Tell her I am presenting to her as a gift the cloth my own mother weaved for me and I shall come tomorrow morning to assure her she is perfectly safe while under my care.”

Leonnatus slowly took the  _ himation _ , looking at Alexander with wide eyes. Everyone around the Royal tent was now listening attentively, even the dancing girls had stopped to listen.

Hephaestion looked down and brushed some imaginary dirt off his short chiton to stop himself from looking at Alexander. If he looked now, he wouldn’t be able to hide his feelings. 

_ This _ was why he loved and respected Alexander, even more than he loved and respected the King. It was a Kingly gesture, no doubt, but it had ‘Alexander’ written all over it. That kindness was weakness to Macedonian eyes, and downright effeminate behavior to Greek ones. But that kindness  _ was _ Alexander, it had always been him. Through the hardness of his father and the fears of his mother, Alexander had somehow learned to be kind. Not just  _ appear _ to be kind, but actually  _ be _ kind. For that, and many other reasons, Hephaestion was sure he would walk with him through Hades and back. His love for him would make it so.

He saw Leonnatus take his leave through the corner of his eye, aware that somewhere to his right Callisthenes was scribbling away into a wax tablet that he had produced from thin air. Yes, the Court Historian would make sure to immortalize this moment, no doubt diluting it to make Alexander appear “less weak”. 

“Musicians, play something for us. And make it short, the night draws to a close,” Alexander pronounced loudly, breaking the aura of awe that surrounded him. The musicians quickly began a song, bringing all their instruments to play together to make their finishing song a memorable one.

Hephaestion felt Alexander fall next to him on the couch, reclining close to him and slightly brushing his outer thigh in a casual way. Hephaestion felt his chest expand, unsure if he should say something or simply keep his silence. He was afraid he might blurt out a confession of undying love if he opened his mouth. He felt shattered yet complete. His love for Alexander unravelled in him a sensitivity he had worked hard to contain over the years. He felt his eyes burn behind his lowered eyelids. He felt like crying.

He felt Alexander’s warm breath brush against his shoulder, slowly making his way to his ear.

“Now you  _ have  _ to spend the night with me. I cannot visit a tent full of women on my own and I am not planning on dragging you out of your tent the morning after a battle,” Alexander whispered, hand still pressing against his thigh surreptitiously.

Hephaestion looked up, swallowing his tears and letting his emotions retreat to their designated place. The moment he locked eyes with Alexander, he saw some intense emotion in his eyes, too. His words were teasing but his real meaning was deeper. 

Sometimes words were not enough.

Hephaestion nodded, left hand slowly brushing against Alexander’s arm. The moment his skin met his, he saw Alexander breathe in sharply. 

“I’ll stay,” he whispered, words almost drowning in the music and noise around them, but he knew Alexander had heard them, “I’ll always stay next to you.”

Alexander blinked rapidly, emotion dancing behind his eyes. He drew in even closer and whispered some words carefully. Before Hephaestion could react, he quickly drew back as a Companion loudly called his name, inviting his King to join in the last dance of the night.

Some moments later, Hephaestion saw him in the midst of the revelers, smiling politely at his men, making sure to address each and every one by name, thanking them individually for their hard work in the battle.

But Hephaestion couldn’t care less what their names or their rank was, whether they had killed in his King’s name or pissed themselves with fear. Alexander’s whispered words was all he could hear, echoing around his head. They made everything around him appear blurry and inconsequential next to them. Alexander had whispered a promise, and Hephaestion felt its truth in his soul.

He closed his eyes and breathed in slowly, committing to memory this moment.

And as he repeated Alexander’s words to himself softly, he felt their weight on his lap, like a votive offering at a temple.

“I will never leave you, my love. I promise.”


End file.
